


beware of dog and his puppet on strings

by angelicwerewolf



Category: Original Work
Genre: (one whole hellhound), Background Character Death, Blood, Body Horror, Death, Demons, Hellhounds, Horror, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Trauma, Violence, i don't rlly write descriptive/graphic horror or violence but still be careful reading this, may add more chapters, specifically, take care of urselves, they won't usually follow the same plot as before maybe but we'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 07:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21175580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicwerewolf/pseuds/angelicwerewolf
Summary: These two are characters from a story I'm working on and plan to fully develop and write to eventually animate it into a show, called Some Dogs Don't Go To Heaven. As the title may imply, the shortest summary to this story is that it revolves around a human turned hellhound that has been alive for centuries causing chaos and being a general villain and bastard, alongside his unwilling puppet Oliver who's only just recently become a puppet (and then a demon himself) when he rlly just wanted to have a chance at life but Von said "fuck you."





	1. work

_ Breathing, scratching, coughing. _

_ Bulging eyes, struggling for air, bruising. _

They stopped moving, and so did Oliver. When the body underneath him showed no more signs of being alive, he moved away from the beaten man and whimpered. _ “I’m so sorry.” _ The boy whispered, even if it was an apology in vain-- for nothing could ever forgive an act of murder.

“It’s what I have to do, _ I’m sorry--” _ Suddenly cut short by another man, he feels the entity’s hand pull ( _ more like yank) _ him by the arm up to his feet. Oliver whimpers once more, much to the other’s disdain. “Quit your whining, Junior,” He orders. “And save your prayers for later. We got work to do.”  
  
The entity in question is Von. _ ‘Businessman’, Contract Maker, Hellhound, Murderer-- _ kind of like a jack-of-all-trades, but an asshole and Oliver was stuck with him. Nervous, shaky hands wiped themselves clean from melting snow, blood and snot on black jeans as he begrudgingly speaks, “M- more work? Isn’t it enough that I just killed a man for _ you? _ I’m not going to continue torturing him.”

_ “Corpse, _ Oliver, _ corpse. _ A man can’t be tortured no more if he’s dead, kid. If you won’t help though, fine, but you still ain’t off the hook.” snarled Von as he flicked his tail, turning his attention from the living to the dead.  
  
“You gotta be in 1st Basmanny Lane by 23:00. Don’t make them suspicious, be discreet if anyone else’s around, and make it _ quick _ . We’re behind on schedule because of you.”  
  
“Wh- me? What’d I do? I-” as he begins to trail off Oliver bites on his bottom lip, inquisitively, defeated. It was honestly fruitless to continue the beginnings of this argument, he decided shortly after a small internal debate. “Yes, Von. I’ll be there.”  
  
“Good. Now, chop-chop. We’re a ways away from Moscow, you better get a head start.”  
  
“Can’t we teleport?”  
  
“ _ I _ can teleport.” matter-of-factly, he corrects. “As much as I’d _ adore _ to take you there, you’re gonna have to figure out how to do it yourself or take the metro or trolleybus.” Annoyed. Von groans with a little twist and contort here and there, snapping bones and growing mass with a shift of human muscle to hellish proportions. The wolf beast of unnatural fur color stands before him-- baring sharp, uneven razor teeth that rival the size of a human’s hand and their weaponry of sharp objects, . A growl that comes deep from the chest and lavishes out like the taste of a good meal running down your throat snaps and coils like wires.  
  
“Now, if you’ll be so kind as to pardon me,” the voice that comes out is different from the Russian’s accented voice; It’s more higher in pitch, layered with many voices that spoke in many tones that distinct from one another but with the same demon behind them. It shook Oliver to his core, but nothing to compare the gaze of multiple yellow eyes that seemingly looked into the soul. “I’ve got things to do.”  
  
The massive jaw of unspoken horrors and sins opened it’s slimy gates to latch down and carry the corpse of the recently deceased. The body was as limp as a rag doll, still bleeding from the struggles of earlier up until the strangulation.  
  
He’s thankful that the moon has hidden her face, lucky that she has spared him another day, for herself to look away from this horror in shame of the things she has had to witness-- humans, evil, misery.

Between muffled breaths, Von spoke, “Stop lollygagging and get on with it.” and demanded. The shiny eyes give another glance to stab daggers into guts, and off he went, blending and fading into the dark of the snow-covered forest in front of them.

Oliver was alone with his thoughts for a while, standing in the dark, cold and tired. The moon was peering back, looking down at the world below her to see the man in a pensive state. The moonlight casts his shadow; staring right back at him with no eyes, no face, no emotions. Just a blank slate plastered on the ground, judging him, making fun of him.

A fruitless fight of the every day that is Oliver’s struggle. Never to come on top, or prevail.

This is the life of someone who gave his soul to a hound of hell.  
  
This is the purpose of an undead and unwilling participant.

This is what Oliver Jr. Wright gets for making a deal with the devilish of dogs.


	2. missing

The calm that came after a day’s worth of work never felt okay. It was no euphoria, but a feeling of emptiness, disgust and _ fear. _

He was alone again now, though, with no beast in sight to step on him or throw him around. That sadly wouldn’t be for long, though, as Von is to eventually come back home; it could take days, but the hellhound was never too far behind.

All Oliver could do now is enjoy what time he’s got off ‘work’. He’ll look after the greenhouse, or dust off the plethora of items in the cabin, or maybe shovel snow from the walkway.. dusting the place off sounds more appealing than the rest. No grime and dirt under his nails. No freezing tail or aching sinusitis.

Now the cabin was huge, bigger than it is supposed to be for just two entities inside of it, but this meant it was a good and long distraction from his own head so the cabin’s spaceness was the least of his worries. Soon enough, he’s got a duster and a pack of duster wipes to begin the process of what he considers quite therapeutic. A handful of things got moved around, just a tad bit rearranged or sorted back to its proper place. A wide of array of things are moved about, books, weapons, the very pointless bookends that’re not holding any books. _ Why does he even have a human skull on top of the damned fireplace? _

Oh, he’s questioning a mad dog that kills for the fun of it. Does he _ really _ think he’ll get a sane answer? Brushing that aside, he cleans the dust off the decades-old skull and continues with the rest of the much more favorable items.

It’s not until he’s half done with the bottom floor when one of the tall mahogany drawers catches the eye of the smaller entity. It’s middle chest, smack dab in the center, was slightly open. In the five years he’s been living in this cabin in the middle of the woods in Russia-- he’s never seen it even be spared a glance to. “That’s.. Odd. What happened here?” He ponders. The picture frame that had been just in his hands is set back down, other items shortly discarded to peep into the curious drawer.

But. This often was a game of fire, a game of _ don’t make a noise or the dragon will awaken. _For time and time again, when he’d discovered things that should not be known or came close to knowing something deeper; the presence of the hound comes back. Never happy with what he sees.

But maybe, maybe this time curiosity won’t kill the cat as much. _ Hopefully. _ He takes a hold of the golden handle, opening the chest to reveal a somewhat-awkwardly space stuffed with papers, both new and old, a small array of pens, jewelry and the old musty smell of antiques.

The paper that was poking out is the only thing that interested him in this pile of information or scrambles-- gently he pinched the corner of the old, kind of yellowed paper, and used his other hand to push off the rest on top of it.

The paper that he pulls out is a revelation he’s not sure he’s happy to know of or not. There on the paper, there’s an old picture taken six years ago, before _ everything _ that happened, before _ this, _when he was an ordinary human. Below the picture of his crimson-eyed self, it reads as follows:

**_MISSING! __  
_ _ OLIVER JR. WRIGHT. CRIMSON EYES AND BLACK MID-LENGTH HAIR. _**

** _ 17 YEARS OLD. MALE. 5’1. 80lbs. SWEDISH. _ **

** _ LAST LAST SEEN ON ---- IN ---- AT ---- PM. _ **

** _ IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION OR SEE ANYTHING, CONTACT FAMILY AT: ---------. _ **

** _ THANK YOU._ **

“People are actually _ looking _ for me?” He’s baffled. He’s being treated like he just up and vanished, instead of the atrocities he committed the night before Von took him. “ _ Wh- why?” _with a voice crack, he chokes on his breath as the beginning of some tears swell in the corners of his eyes.

_ It just isn’t fair. _

Oliver’s honestly not sure if he even wants to go back. His life has drastically changed since then and no amount of normal was going to fix it now. 

It’s been six whole years since he was last seen in The United States, and now all the way across the globe in Russia, he’s come to know one of plenty of Von’s secrets. Or, half of one at least.

Why were there scratched out words?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can we get an F in the chat for Oliver?

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short lil thing that I challenged myself to write bc I'm rusty as hell and can't think of anything else to write and almost all I tried looked blegh. but I hope y'all enjoy this!


End file.
